The Poems and Prose of Ernest Dowson, With a Memoir by Arthur Symons - LightNovelsOnl.com
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PIERROT Why art sad, sweet Moon?
[_Laughing._]
THE LADY For this, my story, grant me now a boon.
PIERROT I am thy servitor.
THE LADY Would, then, I knew More of the earth, what men and women do.
PIERROT I will explain.
THE LADY Let brevity attend Thy wit, for night approaches to its end.
PIERROT Once was I a page at Court, so trust in me: That's the first lesson of society.
THE LADY Society?
PIERROT I mean the very best Pardy! thou wouldst not hear about the rest.
I know it not, but am a _pet.i.t maitre_ At rout and festival and _bal champetre_ But since example be instruction's ease, Let's play the thing.--Now, Madame, if you please!
[_He helps her to rise, and leads her forward: then he kisses her hand, bowing over it with a very courtly air._]
THE LADY What am I, then?
PIERROT A most divine Marquise!
Perhaps that att.i.tude hath too much ease.
[_Pa.s.ses her._]Ah, that is better! To complete the plan, Nothing is necessary save a fan.
THE LADY Cool is the night, what needs it?
PIERROT Madame, pray Reflect, it is essential to our play.
THE LADY[_Taking a lily._]
Here is my fan!
PIERROT So, use it with intent: The deadliest arm in beauty's armament!
THE LADY What do we next?
PIERROT We talk!
THE LADY But what about?
PIERROT We quiz the company and praise the rout; Are polished, petulant, malicious, sly, Or what you will, so reputations die.
Observe the d.u.c.h.ess in Venetian lace, With the red eminence.
THE LADY A pretty face!
PIERROT For something tarter set thy wits to search-- "She loves the churchman better than the church."
THE LADY Her blush is charming; would it were her own!
PIERROT Madame is merciless!
THE LADY Is that the tone?
PIERROT The very tone: I swear thou laciest naught.
Madame was evidently bred at Court.
THE LADY Thou speakest glibly: 'tis not of thine age.
PIERROT I listened much, as best becomes a page.
THE LADY I like thy Court but little--
PIERROT Hus.h.!.+ the Queen!
Bow, but not low--thou knowest what I mean.
THE LADY Nay, that I know not!
PIERROT Though she wear a crown, 'Tis from La Pompadour one fears a frown.
THE LADY Thou art a child: thy malice is a game.
PIERROT A most sweet pastime--scandal is its name.
THE LADY Enough, it wearies me.
PIERROT Then, rare Marquise, Desert the crowd to wander through the trees.
[_He bows low, and she curtsies; they move round the stage. When they pa.s.s before the Statue he seizes her hand and falls on his knee._]
THE LADY What wouldst thou now?
PIERROT Ah, prithee, what, save thee!
THE LADY Was this included in thy comedy?
PIERROT Ah, mock me not! In vain with quirk and jest I strive to quench the pa.s.sion in my breast; In vain thy blandishments would make me play: Still I desire far more than I can say.
My knowledge halts, ah, sweet, be piteous, Instruct me still, while time remains to us, Be what thou wist, G.o.ddess, moon-maid, _Marquise_, So that I gather from thy lips heart's ease, Nay, I implore thee, think thee how time flies!
THE LADY Hus.h.!.+ I beseech thee, even now night dies.
PIERROT Night, day, are one to me for thy soft sake.
[_He entreats her with imploring gestures, she hesitates: then puts her finger on her lip hus.h.i.+ng him._]
THE LADY It is too late, for hark! the birds awake.
